


Gods and Monsters

by guymans (cactuuar)



Category: Daft Punk
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Label AU, M/M, almost lolol, almost sort of, crydamoure is an angel, human! daft punk, label au??, not really - Freeform, thom is a human, too many au's in one tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactuuar/pseuds/guymans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In a land of gods and monsters, you were an angel."<br/>Crydamoure risks his position as the god of love when he falls in love himself— which wouldn't be so bad if that person weren't human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gathering

**Author's Note:**

> well!!  
> i have nothing to say tbh, just that i have the entire story planned out already.

“I hate this color on me.”

“Oh, please, you look fine in anything.”

“Not this color. Why must we have to wear this every time there’s a gathering?”

“Because of all the other rags you wear, this is the best. And I picked it out for us to match.”

The brunet rolled his eyes, shooing his brother away from fussing with his chiton any longer. He smoothed out the fabric before reaching up to run a hand through his wavy auburn locks, “No offense, but your taste is mediocre. And not to mention _old-fashioned.”_ He moved past his brother to scrutinize his outfit further in their shared mirror, grimacing at the tanned color of his chiton. “Is there any way of not going to this gathering this time? Come on, Paul, there needs to be _some_ excuse we can make up.”

His brother, Paul, sighed and lightly shoved his brother from the mirror to look over his own outfit. “I don’t understand why you hate being around the others, they all _love_ you to pieces, Crydamoure.”

“Oh, please,” Crydamoure shook his head and crossed his arms, scrunching up his nose. “They only like me because of my looks. And not to mention my... _occupation.”_

“You act like you hate your job.”

“It’s a _hobby._ And _you_ act like it’s an easy job.”

Paul moved from the mirror, rolling his eyes as his brother examined his wings for any blemishes. “You, dear brother, are an absolute brat sometimes.”

Crydamoure grinned, turning to leave their dressing room with his brother in tow. “I know.”

* * *

 

The sun was beginning to set, and only few clouds lay scattered across the warm, orange sky. Absolutely everyone was busy for that day’s gathering as there were people bustling in and out of shops to decorate the town and themselves, wanting to appear their best when the higher-ups visited. Seeing as their village wasn’t exactly elaborate or ornate enough for the higher-ups, they resided in their own palace directly above Crydamoure and Paul’s village. Everyone would gawk at their gold walls and gush over how the windows shone with pure crystal, envious of the higher-ups’ status and power. Granted, _Crydamoure_ deserved to reside within that palace and wake up every morning to servants and a gourmet breakfast, wear the most beautiful of silks everyday and perform his work in leisure— but he did not desire that lifestyle. Not without his brother, a mere angel who so happened to be the brother of a god. No, if Paul could not live lavishly alongside Crydamoure, then he would rather live plainly amongst the angels with Paul.

Crydamoure abhorred the laws of the Above, the supremacy placed upon the gods simply because of their titles. At least with the angels, everyone was equal. However, at first, everyone in the village treated him with the utmost respect, afraid to be smited or cursed, despite his attempts to reassure them otherwise. A few decades and most everyone forgot he was even a god to begin with, thankfully. They were only reminded when he took his place with the other gods during gatherings, albeit reluctantly.

As the two weaved their way through the crowds beginning to assemble in the streets, Crydamoure dreaded the pending gathering more than ever. He knew that Paul only went to these gatherings to be polite to his brother’s duties, but the angel hated these events just as much as him. It served as another reminder that he was nothing like his brother save for his physical appearances, and everyone could see it. It was unbearable for both of them.

“It’s almost starting,” Crydamoure looked up as the streetlamps became illuminated down the street, groaning. “I swear, these things get more blown up and fancy every time.”

“They are for the gods, after all. Only the best.” Paul muttered, keeping his eyes downcast.

His brother frowned, reaching to give his hand a squeeze. “Come on, this will be over before you know it. I’ll try to stick by you the whole time, alright? They can’t keep me from my own brother.”

He left his hand to linger a moment before returning it to his side once Paul nodded.

They kept close up until they approached the village square, an even larger crowd gathered there. Most of the town had collected here to wait for the gods themselves to come down from their palace off in the distance, including Crydamoure and Paul. Seeing as the festivities were about to begin and the guests were about to arrive, everyone was especially buzzing with excitement and anticipation to see the gods once again. Crydamoure had to admit that they were appealing _physically_ , but none of these people knew how they really acted or what they thought of the angels and humans below them. If someone wasn’t exactly like them, the gods wouldn’t give them a second glance. Crydamoure only acted as if he were chummy with them for the benefits— good food and protection for his younger brother. He could care less if they truly liked him or not.

There was a collective gasp before a sudden outburst of cheers and cries, startling both Paul and Crydamoure as they looked up towards the sky. The golden gates had opened and one by one their grand chariots flew off, pegasi beautiful and gleaming white. Each chariot had been designed differently to suit each god respectively, including Crydamoure’s. The god of war’s chariot was pitch black, edges dipped in gold and curves sleek, contrasting with the god of peace’s cream colored chariot, golden wheels becoming illuminated by the village’s lights. The god of wisdom’s chariot was a light blue, edges silvered and wheels made of glass, and the god of welfare’s chariot was a light green with traces of leaves adorning the white wheels. Crydamoure’s own chariot was a soft pink that brought out the golden edges and matching glistening wheels, but he usually had no use for it.

The god of peace was the first to arrive on the village’s ground, laughing and bounding out of his chariot the minute his pegasi landed. Crydamoure had to smile despite himself; the god of peace was one of the more light hearted gods within the palace, and a favorite amongst the angels. His name was Sonny and it matched his bright personality— even Paul didn't mind him most of the time, except when he was intoxicated beyond belief.

The god of welfare, Vincent, was often the one on his heels when he drank, ushering him back home safely after each gathering. While his personality was much less open than Sonny’s, Vincent usually was the one to check up on Crydamoure and Paul, keeping true to his profession by asking about their health every now and again. The god of war, Gaspard, was much less hospitable towards the two siblings, deeming Crydamoure’s reasoning for not residing in the palace with the others as “selfish” or “inconsiderate” towards the angels and humans below. Gaspard very much enjoyed his profession in being the overseer of war, so of course, it was only natural that Sonny and Crydamoure often but heads with him. The one usual voice of reason within the gods was the god of wisdom, Xavier. Like Vincent, he usually kept to himself during gatherings and in the palace, however kept close to Gaspard for reasons unknown to Crydamoure.

“Crydamoure! Paul! Hello!” Sonny called out towards the brunet as he rushed over to the siblings, enveloping both into a hug, “It’s good to see you two doing well!”

“And you as well, Sonny,” Crydamoure gave an easy smile, “I trust everything’s alright in the palace? Are the others faring well?”

“Yes, they’re just fine. Gaspard is actually in a good mood tonight, as well, so I suspect this entire evening is going to be a surprise.” He pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, “But we _do_ miss having the god of Love in our palace.”

Crydamoure gave a wave of his hand, dismissing the subject immediately. “There’s nothing to miss, Sonny. I’m only a chariot ride away.” He turned to Paul, “I’ll only be gone for the opening formalities, don’t have too much fun without me.”

With a roll of his eyes, Paul bid his brother good bye before Sonny lead Crydamoure through the crowd to the other gods. Xavier’s chariot was just landing as they approached them, and he greeted Crydamoure with a nod of his head. “Good to see you, Crydamoure.”

“Xavier,” he nodded in return politely, “likewise.”

“Ah, Crydamoure!” Gaspard clapped the brunet on the shoulder, “nice to see you. How are things in the village?”

The smaller man crossed his arms, “Fine, thank you. I see you’re in a good mood, Gaspard; there must be something going on with the humans to make you so jovial.”

“They’re truly something, those humans. They get so livid over the smallest things, it’s amusing to see them argue and battle over foolish things such as land borders or contrasting beliefs.”

Sonny huffed next to him, the feathers of his wings beginning to ruffle. “War is _not_  funny, Gaspard. It’s tragic and gruesome and unnecessary.”

Crydamoure agreed, but decided to stay out of their spat. He saw Vincent climbing off of his chariot and decided to greet the god, “Vincent! How are you?”

The brunet grinned at the smaller man, pulling him into an embrace. “Just fine! How are you and your brother? Is the village treating you well?”

“Of course, we’re in good health. Thank you for checking up on us every now and again, I appreciate the hospitality,” Crydamoure gave a mock bow, enticing a laugh from the other. “So, what are the plans for tonight’s gathering?”

“You know how Gaspard is. He wants everyone to have a good time and enjoy themselves, but not without the opening formalities and such. He still wants the angels to know who’s in charge.” He rolled his eyes but kept his good natured smile, walking towards the three other gods with Crydamoure in tow. “I trust everyone is ready to kick off the evening?”

“Vincent, will you please tell Gaspard that he’s being an absolute—”

“No, will you please tell Sonny that I’m _absolutely_ right and that he’s being overdramatic—”

“He will tell _both_ of you that you’re both being immature and, quite frankly, an embarrassment to gods everywhere.” Crydamoure snapped, stepping in between the two to keep them from bickering any longer. “Now let’s just get this _stupid_ gathering over with so that I can go home.”

Sonny and Gaspard looked to Vincent, who could only shrug before following the shorter god into the crowd. Xavier bit back a laugh as he quickly followed suit behind an angry Gaspard and a hurt Sonny, grateful towards Crydamoure’s outburst.

This was going to be a long night.  

 


	2. The Decision

The next day, Crydamoure could hardly remember the previous evening’s gathering. He could faintly remember the opening formalities, but quite soon after that the festivities had begun and the wine began pouring— the rest is self explanatory. He _did_ remember Vincent having to drop both himself and his brother at their home because neither could walk straight, but the events prior were a blur. Which wasn’t that much of a big deal, seeing as he wasn’t hurt and there wasn’t another person in bed with him.

The brunet stirred in his sleep once the sun began to peak over the clouds, sunlight pouring through the windows of his bedroom. He winced once he sat up, holding the side of his head from the throbbing pain of a hangover; he made a mental note to ask Vincent later how many cups of wine he had that night. Stretching his wings and arms, Crydamoure decided to go check on his brother before it was time for him to begin his work for that day.

“Paul?” He spoke softly so as to not wake him up if he were sleeping as he looked into his room. The unmoving lump on the bed was undoubtedly his brother, so he decided to let him sleep a few more hours and went to wash up and prepare breakfast.

Two eggs and a side of olives later, the god was out of his home and back onto the streets of his village, a leather satchel over his shoulder. Mostly everyone out that morning was helping remove the decorations from the gathering or cleaning up the remnants of the party. Shops and restaurants were opening and business was slowly beginning to pick up, including his and Paul's favorite instrument shop. His search for a new harp would have to wait, however, as he soon approached the edge of town— one of the the perfect spots to survey the humans below. The ground soon melted into clouds at the point, the cooling sensation sending delightful chills up Crydamoure’s spine. Granted, this particular spot only allowed him to view a certain part of the world, but unlike certain other gods, Crydamoure preferred to stick to a schedule. There can’t be too many people falling in love, or, worse, falling in love with the _wrong_ people.

Despite what he told others, he actually did like his job. With just one of his arrows, he could make a person fall in love with whom they were meant to love, once he had the name written on the arrow. It was essential to have the names on the arrows, or else that person would just fall for the first person they see, which needed no explanation how problematic _that_ could be. He also liked simply _watching_ others fall in love; especially the way the humans would act around that special person, such as waste hours on deciding an outfit for something as silly as a date. It was amusing, yes, but also something that must feel phenomenal— to fall in love. Plus, Crydamoure took pride in how others praised his work and would like to keep it that way.

The brunet removed his satchel, setting it next to him as he settled on the very edge of a cloud. Pulling out his list, he went over the first victim of the day. “Julian Casablancas, twenty three years old and currently beginning a relationship with Juliet Joslin,” Crydamoure pulled an arrow from his satchel, avoiding the tip as he scrawled the name “Juliet Joslin” on the wooden shaft before grabbing his bow from his satchel as well. This part required the utmost concentration and attentiveness; if his aim was off by even a centimeter, someone else would fall in love with the wrong person and someone’s life would quite possibly be ruined. And Crydamoure was _no_ life ruiner.

He let the arrow fly smoothly, watching to make sure it reached its target: Julian’s left forearm, seeing as it was the only part of his body that wasn’t covered with a bedsheet. It was still early, and he knew that humans required just as much (if not more) sleep than angels. Either way, once it landed and he made sure Julian was in no pain whatsoever, he moved on, beginning to pick up his list once again—

Until he saw Julian’s roommate.

Well, who he assumed was Julian’s roommate. He stepped out of a room next to Julian’s, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He was tall and lanky and still in sweatpants and a t-shirt and his _curly_ hair was still unkempt from that night’s sleep, but to Crydamoure, he couldn’t have looked more perfect. There were no other humans in the world at that point but _him_ and at that moment Crydamoure realized what was happening to him and he wanted to scream and cry and laugh at the same time because _fucking hell_ he was in love. Head over heels in love with some human he just saw and dammit, he was fine with that. He was fine with falling in love with a human, if anything he considered it better than settling for some angel. What was his name? What kind of music did he like? What was his favorite food, color, animal, type of flower?

Eventually, the god had to pull his eyes away from the human and collect his things quickly, foregoing walking to instead use his wings to get him home faster. He needed to clear his head and, more importantly, tell his brother what happened to him.

* * *

 

"Well, you're home early—"

"Paul, something _extraordinary_ just happened to me!" Crydamoure closed the door to their home and grabbed his brother in a bone-crushing hug, "You'll never believe it!"

His younger brother blinked in surprise but nonetheless returned the hug. "What, did something happen with a human? You didn't hit the wrong person, did you?"

 _“No,_ dear gods, no. You have little faith in me, brother,” Crydamoure pulled away from his brother to take a breath, then continued,  “No, you’ll never believe what I _saw!_ I saw the most perfect human— the most beautiful, and I _mean_ it, the most wonderful human I’ve ever seen! He-He was tall and had the _curliest_ blonde hair and-and—”

“Wait, wait,” Paul took a hold of his brother’s arms, “What’s going on with your _eyes?”_

“What do you mean? Who _cares,_ Paul—”

“Are those _hearts?”_ His brother almost laughed, but instead pulled his brother to the mirror in his bedroom. Crydamoure gasped, scrutinizing his eyes to find that, yes, _holy shit,_ there were actual tiny pink hearts in the center of his pupils. Never in his life had this happened—and he has lived a _long_ life— nor has he heard of this happening to any other god or angel.

The brunet rubbed his eyes, but those stubborn, tiny hearts remained in their place. “This

hasn’t happened before, what if they don’t go away? I’ll have to deal with people asking me about them everywhere I go! What will I _do?”_

“There are actual hearts in your eyes. _Hearts._ Are you in...in _love,_ Crydamoure?”

He had only assumed so, but now that he’s seen what _thinking_ of that human did to him, he asked himself that same question. Is _this_ what love was? Tiny hearts in your eyes and the overwhelming urge to sob?

If so, then yes, the god of love was in love.

With a _human._

“What am I going to do?” Crydamoure stepped away from the mirror, instead moving to sit on his bed. “He’s a human. I’m...I’m a _god._ He doesn’t even know I _exist_ — gods, what have I gotten myself into?”

“I didn’t think the god of love _could_ even fall in love,” Paul sat next to him slowly, shock written across his face. He wanted to reach out and comfort his brother, but how could he? There was no advice to give him, no easy way out of this. “But you’re not thinking of...of leaving, right? You can’t just abandon your role as the god of love.”

The god wanted to be angry at his brother for even saying that, but he knew it was true. There was no one else to take his place, and what would the other gods think of him leaving the luxuries of the Above for a _human?_ That was the catch: the god of love could _fall_ in love, but he wasn’t _able_ to love. This role wasn’t a blessing, it was a curse.

“I-I need to figure out a way to meet him, somehow,” Crydamoure sniffled, rubbing the tears away before they came, “I _need_ to. I need to contact him, or-or go down there myself, if I have to.”

“Are you insane?” Paul stood from the bed, “What will the other gods think when they find out you’re trying to leave, or if they even _see_ you try to leave?”  

“I can’t just stay here, Paul, it physically _pains_ me to be away from him,” the god snapped, “I would be supportive if _you_  loved a human, why is it so hard to do the same for me?”

“Because I’m just an _angel,_ and you’re an actual _god,_ who could be banished, or, even worse, fallen! I don’t think I could live with myself if I just let you become fallen, Crydamoure, I _can’t.”_

Crydamoure stood and moved past his brother, wanting to get as far away from this conversation as possible. He knew he was being rash, but at that point, he didn’t care— he wanted to see that human again and if he needed to trade away his fucking _wings,_ then that’s what he would do, with or without his brother’s help.

He grabbed his satchel from the kitchen table and reached for the front door,  “I’d rather be fallen and suffer for eternity than live without him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actual teenage crydamoure   
> drop a comment if u liked, thank u!!  
> (questions???? to my tumblr --> galestrikes.tumblr.com)


	3. The Bargain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i reeeeaally enjoyed writing this chapter.

He knew it was a bad idea. No, it was past bad, it was _demented_ — literally. The path to the gates of Below was an abandoned one, as no one from Above saw any use in it. No angel or god wanted any business with the conniving, treacherous demons below, but Crydamoure was desperate. There had always been talk of demons in their village, but he had always only remembered rumors of a particular demon that dealt in bargains and trades. He was popular in the land Below and even with the humans above their land, but he rarely heard of the outcomes of these trades. For all he knew, this demon could have millions of humans’ souls in his pocket.

Crydamoure neared the beaten path, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one was following him or watching him. Despite his stubbornness, he knew Paul was right when he mentioned how the other gods would react to his actions. He was lucky if he was simply banished from their village or the palace, but he knew Gaspard wouldn’t be that kind. Nonetheless, the god pressed on, approaching the rusted gates of the path and pushing through, making sure to leave them closed behind him. Ahead of him, he could see the path dissolve into dark gray clouds, the sky overhead becoming dark.

“No turning back, now,” Crydamoure muttered, clutching the strap to his satchel. “let’s just get this over with.”

* * *

The further he got through the path, the darker it became around him. The clouds were soon beginning to disappear beneath his feet, instead turning into hard concrete steps. The god was getting closer and he could feel it; the air was becoming warmer and the light from Above was beginning to fade away. Luckily for him, his body cast a natural glow— if it weren’t for him being from Above, he would be left blind in this intense darkness.

Slowly, an orange glow began to cut through the darkness as Crydamoure descended down the swirling steps. Before he knew it, he had reached the gates to Below, which were just as rusted as the gates Above. He pushed through, and a wave of warm air rushed past him as the gates closed shut. Before him, another path, however this one resembled a hallway rather than the dark path he had faced before. It was well lit by wall lamps hanging on both sides of the hallway, with a dark red rug covering the wooden floorboards beneath it. A wooden door sat at the very end of the hallway; Crydamoure figured that was the entrance to Below.

Beyond the door lay a completely different land— instead of dirt paths and simple cottages, the land Below had towering skyscrapers and highways made of cement. Demons bustled to and fro all around him, giving him suspicious looks or overall ignoring his presence as they hurried to their destination while chatting on their cellphones. There was no blue sky or clouds, just a jet black void hanging over the land and its inhabitants. Cars and buses whizzed past him as Crydamoure attempted to make his way through the streets, ignoring the confused or malicious looks the demons gave him.

There needed to be a way to find the demon he was looking for, and if he was as popular as the angels claimed he was, anyone must know who he is.

“Hey now,” a voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to find a blonde haired demon looking down on him with a smirk, “what’s an angel doing all the way down here?”

He was about to correct him, but the brunet thought it better to keep him being a god a secret. “I’m looking for someone,” he answered truthfully, “a demon. Um, I heard he specializes in bargains and trades? Is there anyone like that here? The-The other angels said he was pretty popular...”

The blonde rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. He was wearing clothes that resembled a human’s: a white pullover and a pair of blue jeans. Crydamoure also noted the dark red, pointed tail and bat-like wings. “That old rat? What’s an angel want with someone like him?”

“I’d say that’s none of your business. Can you take me to him or not?”

“Yikes.” He rubbed the back of his neck before shrugging. “Yeah, why not? Keep close behind me, kid.”

“I am _much_ older than you.” Crydamoure huffed, but kept close to the blonde. “...Is this how it always is down here?”

They turned a corner, “What, too much excitement?”

“Too much chaos. And where are the trees, the plants? It’s completely barren.”

The blonde laughed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re _under_ the fucking _ground_. No sunlight or water to keep plants alive. Besides, it’s mostly ‘business’ down here, anyways.” He nodded towards a group of demons on the opposite side of the road, dressed from head to toe in business suits and each holding suitcases. “No time for gardening.”

“Shame.”

“So, what do they call you?”

“Cry— I mean, um, Guy...Guillaume.”

The blonde raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question the name. “Diplo.”

They stayed in silence as they passed several more buildings and skyscrapers, Crydamoure looking up in awe each time. He still received strange looks, but for the most part, demons ignored him as they saw he was accompanied by a demon. Eventually, they reached a particularly high skyscraper, glass doors sliding open as they stepped inside. Crydamoure followed Diplo to the front desk, staying silent and keeping his eyes downcast as the blonde chatted with the woman behind the desk.

“Thomas, I didn’t think I’d be seeing you back so soon,” she said, popping her gum with a bored expression. Her hair was a soft teal color and her skin was like ivory. “What do you want, now?”

“It’s _Diplo_ , and my... _friend_ , here,” he glanced towards the brunet, “needs to see Joel.”

“You know he doesn’t take visitors without an appointment—”

“Just tell him it’s an angel, Mija. He rarely gets any customers from upstairs.”

She didn’t give him another glance as she dialed a number, simply saying, “You got a customer,” into the phone before nodding towards the elevators.

The two made their way to the elevator, and Crydamoure felt himself getting anxious. “H-How do you know him?”

“Who, Joel? Ain’t a demon alive who doesn’t know Joel. Plus I used to work for him. But you’ll see he’s kinda hard to forget.”

They rode the elevator to the forty-second floor, the brunet fidgeting with the hem of his chiton the whole way. What did Diplo mean when he said he was “hard to forget”? Was he dangerous? Questions swirled inside his mind as they stepped out and into another hallway, another door at the very end of the hall.

Diplo knocked twice before opening the door, “Joel, you got a customer.”

“I don’t take unannounced customers, Thomas,” a voice answered, irritated. “Tell him to make a fucking appointment next time.”

The blonde rolled his eyes before grabbing Crydamoure’s arm, pushing him into the room. “I think you’re gonna wanna see this one _now.”_

Crydamoure had to cover his mouth to keep from gasping. Before him was the demon in question, Joel, he presumed— however instead of a normal head, there was a bright red _mouse_ head on top of his shoulders. Its eyes were white and gave a faint glow, and its mouth was set in a giant, open smile, also white. It had no teeth and no pupils, but the minute he felt those eyes on him, unpleasant chills went up his spine. He wore a business suit just as most everyone else, however the god could see tattoos covering his hands and neck.

The mouse headed demon did a once over, straightening up instantly. “Well, well! I suppose I can make room for him. Shut the door on your way out.”

The door shut and suddenly Crydamoure felt very alone— save for the terrifying mouse seated across from him. He licked his lips before asking, "Are you...Joel?"

"The one and only. However, I go by 'deadmau5' among my clients." He stood from his desk, pulling a business card from his jacket pocket to hand to the god. It would seem that Crydamoure was _way_ off when spelling his name; instead of an "s", it was spelled with the number five. "And _you_ must be the god of love, Crydamoure."

The brunet looked up from the business card, "How did you—?"

"I'm familiar with the pricks who run things upstairs. One in particular," before Crydamoure could question further, he changed the subject. "But this isn't about me. What do _you_ need?"

"I...I want to become mortal," He answered hesitantly, uncertain as to what he was getting himself into. He just wanted to be with that human, but becoming mortal? Is that what it would take?

"Mortal!" Joel laughed, leaning against his desk. "Even I can't take away your immortality. But may I ask, what for? You must have a nice life in the palace, why give that up?"

Crydamoure shook his head, "I don't live in the palace with the others, nor would I _want_ to. And I...I want to meet a human." He couldn't tell if the tiny hearts returned in his eyes, but he felt his heartbeat speed up just at the thought of that curly haired human. "Isn't there something you can do?"

The demon crossed his arms over his chest, thinking. "...I can get you up there. With the humans, I mean. But it won't be cheap." He walked over to a file cabinet, flipping through several files before pulling out a scroll from the very back of the cabinet. He gestured for Crydamoure to come to his desk before opening the scroll, laying it out on his desk for the god to see. "I have this deal saved in case something like this ever happened. I can get you your own life with the humans— a place of your own, money, status, the whole shebang— for the low, low price of your wings."

Crydamoure stepped back in surprise, blinking. "My...my _wings?"_

"It's not a bad price for a nice life as a human—"

"But my _wings?_ They're-They're my wings, for gods sakes! They're _connected_ to me, I can't just give them away!"

"Then you can forget about being with that human of yours." Joel shrugged, beginning to roll the paper back up. "You have nothing else of value to me, anyways. Your wings are what make you angels and gods special."

The god ran a hand through his hair, considering this deal. If he lost his wings, he wouldn't be able to fly anywhere, and he could forget about ever being able to go back home. He would be stuck walking everywhere, and wouldn't it be painful to have his wings removed? Joel was right when he said wings were what made angels and gods special; without them, he looked like just a normal person. He would blend in perfectly with the humans and never have to worry about cutting holes into the back of his clothing, or folding them against his back when he was in public. That human would think he was just like him.

"Wait," Crydamoure stepped towards the demon, "...I'll do it."

"Fan-fucking-tastic. If you would sign here," Joel unrolled the sheet, pulling out a pen from his jacket pocket before pointing to the very bottom of the page, "you'll be all set. Let me take care of the details— what's this human's name, by the way?"

The brunet took the offered pen, "I...I don't know. I just what he looks like and that he lives in Paris...but I do know his roommate's name."

"That'll do. And do you have a name you wouldn't mind being called? Crydamoure is a bit flashy."

"Guillame. I don't have a preference for a surname."

Once Crydamoure signed his name, the scroll rolled back up and Joel tucked it away in his file cabinet, his white smile somehow growing wider. "Now, the fun part."

The door to his office suddenly locked, steel bars blocking off the exit. Crydamoure's first instinct was to glance behind him and unfurl his wings; Joel saw this as an opening and reached out to grab one of them, clutching the appendage with force. The god yelped, about to squirm out of his grasp when he felt something sharp and jagged touch the base of one of his wings, where it connected to his back.

"Don't move around too much, it'll make this hurt a whole lot more." The demon began sawing through; Crydamoure screamed. "I've always wanted something to mount on my wall."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop a comment if u liked, thank u!  
> (questions??? wanna talk about this shit story?? my tumblr--> galestrikes.tumblr.com)


	4. The Adjustment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gah school's started, expect slower chapter updates

It was a bright, sunny day in Paris, France. The sun was high in the sky, the skies were a baby blue and there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary for its inhabitants. They went along on their business: going down to the cafe to enjoy a cup of that _divine_ brew, or to the bakery to pick up the fresh pastries that beckoned customers inside, or simply out for a walk to enjoy the fresh air. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary, and no one seemed the wiser to the angel stripped of wings currently waking up in an apartment that he was sure didn’t belong to him.

Crydamoure had woken up after Joel had finished sawing his wings off and sent him to his new home— and new _life_ , apparently. But figuring out his new identity and life could come later; right now the brunet was going to scream the minute he realized his wings were gone and his back and part of his bedsheets were drenched in his own blood. The pain was dull, but what was left of his wings (the very base of his pure white wings and a few feathers that fell away with the slight breeze from the open window) was enough to make him bawl, clutching the bedsheets to his chest as he sobbed. He knew he agreed to having his wings taken away, but had he honestly realized what it meant to have your _wings taken away?_ No, of course not. He was the god of love, not the god of wisdom. Either way, he was heartbroken and now officially stuck in the world of the living.

With _his_ human.

His sobbing began to cease and dissolve into mere sniffles and the occasional hot tear, and eventually he pulled himself to what he guessed was his bathroom. It was very spacious and had both a shower and a circular tub, along with a walk-in closet. Looking in his mirror, he found nothing wrong or different with his face— wavy, auburn hair, crucelean eyes and ivory skin— or the rest of himself, save for his back. His chiton was slightly torn at the bottom and his sandals were missing, as well, but he figured there were no need for either things anymore. So, the god decided to first wash himself before going out to explore the rest of his newly acquired apartment.

The sight of the bathwater running red nearly made him gag and he nearly began crying again. Likewise for when he _almost_ began washing his wings.

After his bath, Crydamoure kept a towel wrapped around his waist as he inspected his new home. It was more spacious than his home Above, and the furniture was extremely simplistic compared to his own back home. The kitchen fascinated him the most; he had seen humans using various kitchen appliances of course, but he had never been able to actually use one before (the coffee maker and refrigerator seemed especially interesting). There were three rooms in total besides the living room and kitchen: his own bedroom, what he assumed was an empty guestroom and a room which acted as a study or library.

The books lining the walls of the study ranged from classics to modern novels— _The Great Gatsby, Dante’s Inferno,_ and _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ were just a few of the books shelved comfortably along the walls of the study. A fan of reading himself, Crydamoure figured this room would soon become his most-visited. On his desk lay a laptop and a cup of pens and pencils towards the left of the room, a swivel chair tucked underneath it. There was a knapsack set next to the deep mahogany desk, a white binder peeking out from it, and he bent down to inspect the object further.

The binder was pretty much full of schoolwork, apparently, with papers full of scribbled notes and the occasional doodle. Two textbooks were tucked beneath the binder, and a small pencil bag full of more pens and pencils. Opening the front pocket of the knapsack, the god fished out a simple brown wallet and a set of keys (he drove, apparently? That was going to be a problem). He opened the wallet, finding exactly what he was looking for: his ID. Next to a plain picture of himself with his hair a bit shorter than what it was now, it read:

STUDENT ID

GUILLAUME DE HOMEM-CHRISTO

MALE

8 FEBRUARY 1974

STUDENT ID #: XXX XX XXX

Student. He was a student? He’d never been a student anywhere before. What was he studying? _Where_ was he studying? Why hadn't Joel told him about this before? That demon couldn't wait to cut off his wings to at least tell him what the hell kind of life Crydamoure would have now. And just what _year_ was it? The brunet pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. The apartment was a nice touch, but the rest of his life was going to be a big puzzle to piece— and how was he even supposed to find that human? He didn't even know his name, let alone where he could possibly live. However, he briefly noted his surname had been a nice touch from Joel.

Crydamoure moved from the study back to his bedroom, deciding to pick out something to wear. He had seen what humans wear, but had he ever worn actual _pants_ before? Of course not, how uncomfortable. The fabric of the jeans he had slipped on rubbed and clung to his skin agonizingly, and he winced every time he took a step. A plaid button up shirt and pair of shoes (that, for the first time ever, were not sandals) later, he was in his kitchen with his knapsack on the dining table, beginning to dissect his binder and textbooks.

Apparently, he was heavily interested in Greek mythology. Which was only appropriate, he figured. So Joel hadn't completely thrown him into this world without any perks. In his knapsack were two textbooks, one of the foundations of Greek mythology and the other a simple algebra textbook. Nothing of extreme value lay in his binder or pencil bag, save for his student ID and wallet which he tucked into his back pocket.

Something rang in the spacious apartment, a loud noise that startled the god out of his thoughts. Of course— humans used phones to communicate with each other when they didn't want to see each other face to face. There, set next to a stack of magazines on his livingroom coffee table, lay a shiny black phone set. Sure, he's seen how they work, but he's never been in direct contact with one before (big surprise). Hesitantly, Crydamoure picked up the phone, bringing it to his ear as he's seen humans do before—

"Guy! Where have you _been?"_ A voice nearly shouted right into the receiver.

Crydamoure pulled the phone away, wincing, before answering cautiously, "I'm...sorry?" He almost shouted in surprise; when did he learn French?

"I guess it's fine. Have you been busy or something?"

"Ah, yes... Sorry for not calling...you," Well, it wasn't a _complete_ lie. He _had_ been busy being the god of love for quite a few centuries.

"Are you okay? You don't sound like yourself. Is everything alright?"

He had to think fast. "Yes, everything's fine, I'm just— tired. From studying...all last night."

The person on the other end laughed, _"You can't be serious,"_ they said in English, before switching back over to French, "Okay, okay. If you say so. But, hey, is it alright if I come over later with Thomas? We rented a few movies that we’re _dying_ to see.”

_Movies? Thomas? Who am I even speaking with right now?_ “Sure... I have nothing else going on today. Um, what time would you two be coming over?"

“Sometime in the evening, and we’ll grab dinner— Thomas’ treat!”

“Thank you...Thomas? Er, thank him for me.” Crydamoure dragged a hand down his face, making a mental note to learn how to speak _human_ while he was on earth. “I’ll see you in a bit, then.”

They hung up, and after a few moments to ponder over what he agreed to, Crydamoure yelled.

How was he supposed to entertain two humans, who, apparently, knew him well? Well, knew _Guy-man_ well. Crydamoure suddenly felt dizzy, and had to steady himself by sitting down on the couch next to the coffee table. Damn his puppy love, damn his lost wings, damn Joel, damn demons, damn it all! A thousand questions swirled in his head, such as how he learned to suddenly speak french and english, what in the world he would do tonight, if he really needed to dress this way for the rest of his life (pants? Every _day?)_ , and who he talked to just minutes ago. Not that they sounded threatening or anything dangerous like that, no, quite the opposite, really, but still— _what was he going to do?_

It was times like these that he could really use his brother’s advice. Or at least one of his stupid jokes. Or even just a reassuring smile, a pat on the back, a squeeze of the hand, _something_ from Paul that would make his worries go away. Oh, Paul... What was he thinking right now? Was he even thinking of Crydamoure, has he already ratted him out to the other gods? No, even he wasn’t that cruel. Paul just wasn’t cruel, period. And yet, the brunet could only imagine how abandoned his brother must have felt at that moment, and how utterly selfish he was being. Yes, he was in love, but was it worth leaving his only family?

Crydamoure would have to wait to answer that, because before he had realized it, the skies were beginning to darken in color and streetlights were becoming illuminated. It was nearly six o’clock in the evening, and he was still sitting in the same spot moping about things that he couldn’t fix. He cursed before bolting from the couch to redo his hair. At least his apartment wasn’t messy, and mostly everything seemed to be in order— except the bloodied sheets from this morning. How did humans wash their things? Washing machines? Did Guy-Man own one? There was no time to look around for one because at that moment, he heard the doorbell go off and he figured that, for now, no one would come into his room, and hurriedly closed the door before going off to answer.

_Here goes nothing,_ the god thought to himself before unlocking the door... .

..and coming face to face with _exactly_ the person he was looking for.

And, who he now recognized as Julian, but right now, it was all about the blonde, curly haired human that stood with his hands shoved his his pockets and cheeks rosy from the cold that Crydamoure failed to notice. He almost forgot how to breathe were it not for Julian waving a hand in front of his face, asking if he was alright.

“Oh, um, yes,” he tucked a some hair behind his ear, stepping aside to let them in, “L-Like I said earlier, I’m just tired. From studying.”

“I still find that very hard to believe,” Julian rolled his eyes, beginning to shake off his coat. “you _never_ study for anything.”

“Well, it _was_ New Year’s a few weeks ago,” Thomas said, hanging his coat on the coat hanger that Crydamoure couldn’t care less to notice next to his door. Thomas. Yes, he’s had a few Thomases on the job before, but never one so... well, like _him_. And, gods above, was he taller in person. “Nothing wrong with a resolution. Like improving on your french.” The blonde gave a pointed look towards Julian.

“So I’m american, kill me,” he plopped down onto the couch, yawning. “You two can understand me just fine.”

_So he’s american_ , Crydamoure thought idly, honestly still dazed by having Thomas so close to him (a few feet, at least). _But his last name definitely isn’t american or french._  Brushing his thoughts away, he noticed a large box sitting on his kitchen counter, a rather delightful smell wafting from it. This must be dinner. Thomas the first to open it and grab a slice— a rather cheesy slice— before Julian walked over to take a piece as well.

It definitely wasn't grapes or eggs, but it did look good. It was in the shape of a triangle and looked warm, but good nonetheless. Before he could look any more awkward, Crydamoure plucked a piece from the box himself, biting into the food carefully. To his embarrassment, he had to stop himself from outright moaning in front of the other two; what in the world was this? And why on _earth_ was it not available Above? This was truly forged by some cook from Above and brought down to earth, for he has never tasted something so greasy yet heart-warmingly delicious. He didn't notice himself grabbing another piece after finishing his first one off.

"Jeez, Guy, you're eating as if you've never had pizza before," Julian said while Thomas chuckled, "you okay?"

Crydamoure looked up from his slice of pizza, "Y-Yes, I just...haven't eaten all day. Too busy...studying." "

Alright, well, enough 'studying', because we're not sleeping until we finish the movies we brought over," Julian finished his piece of pizza before walking back towards the couch, popping open a DVD box and slipping it into the DVD player that Crydamoure, again, couldn't glance twice at. Technology has nothing on Thomas's rosy cheeks and— oh, gods, _hands_.

A while after they had devoured the entire box of pizza, they all sat, quite comfortably, the brunet will admit, on the couches set in front of the television set. Thomas knew where the spare blankets were kept and Julian knew where the snacks were kept, so Crydamoure didn't have to lift a finger to entertain his guests, which he was quite thankful for. Either he was becoming better at being human or it was somehow Guy-Man communicating with Julian and Thomas, but all three of them seemed to get along surprisingly well. _Easily_ was the better term for it, seeing as the only "friends" he's had before were the gods who served beside him, and they were simply too difficult to get along with at times. But with Julian and Thomas, it was different— yes, most of the time, it was confusing to keep up with what they were talking about, but for the most part, he felt familiar around them. Of course, he wanted to be as familiar as possible with Thomas, who he couldn't help but glance at throughout each movie.

It was when Julian left to use the bathroom that he realized that he was alone with him. Of course, he didn't expect anything to happen, and nothing did besides normal conversation:

"Guy?"

"Hm?"

"Is there something wrong with your eyes? They're kind of... _pink_ in the middle of your pupil..."

Crydamoure's hands flew up to scrub at his eyes, but he laughed off Thomas' concern, "Y-Yeah, just...ah, allergies. What with the cold and all... no worries, Thomas, I'm fine."

Before Thomas could question further, Julian's voice called out, "Guy-Man?"

He turned to look over his shoulder, stomach dropping when he saw what Julian was looking at—

"Why is there _blood_ on your sheets?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> questions?? --> my tumblr: galestrikes.tumblr.com


	5. The Reveal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing big in this chapter, just a build up for next chapters

He _knew_ he should have thrown out those sheets. He _knew_ he should have at least locked the door to his bedroom. He _knew_ he shouldn’t have gone through with this entire deal with Joel. Dammit all, _he knew!_

And, yet, here he stood, shirtless and red faced, his back facing a horrified Julian and dumbstruck Thomas. It took Crydamoure quite a while to convince Julian to not call the police or the hospital, and it took an even longer while to calm Thomas down and remind him to breathe (Crydamoure learned that he could not stand the sight of blood). The only way of properly explaining his story with to show them exact proof of what he used to be, and with an irritated sigh he pulled his shirt off to show the two the remainder of his wings. He had only just gotten used to being without wings, and having to be reminded of what happened to him only made his stomach lurch and he felt the pizza he had earlier rise back up his throat.

It was deathly silent for a few moments as the two took in what they were seeing. The god could feel their burning stares and buried his face in his hands, rubbing his temples as he was scrutinized. What would Thomas think? Would he shun him immediately and never want to speak to him again? Would he not believe Crydamoure and write him off as a crazy, delusional freak?

“W-What...what are...what are those?” Thomas’s timid voice stuttered out finally, and Crydamoure hurriedly slipped his shirt back on.

“What’s left...what’s left of my _wings,”_ he swallowed, preparing himself for a bombardment of questions, “I couldn’t think of any other way to explain it to you. I’m not human, I’m— I _was_ an angel.”

“Angel?” Julian’s voice cracked a bit.

“Well, more like god. Er, the god of...love...” Whipping off his shirt was embarrassing enough, but talking about his job? “Like, what is it you call it? Cupid?”

_“You’re_ Cupid.” Thomas dumbly stated, and Julian ran a hand through his hair and blew out air. “You’re fucking _Cupid.”_

Crydamoure placed his hands on his hips, “What other explanation do I need for the nubs on my back? That I was part _bird?”_

Julian stepped in front of Thomas, “It would make more sense than you being an actual fucking _angel!_ Are you sure you’re not baked right now? You’re completely sober? Has anyone else heard about this—”

“Julian, shut up for five seconds,” The blonde stepped in before Crydamoure could answer any of his questions and pulled him to his side again. He turned to Crydamoure, brown eyes meeting blue, and the god could feel an involuntary shiver run down his spine. “For how long have you...been this way?”

“For as long as I can remember... I mean, Guy-Man has always been human, I guess, I just can’t explain how I got here. I made a deal with this demon to become human, and—”

_“Demon?”_ Julian nearly yelled before Thomas shot him a glare for interrupting.

“—and next thing I know, I’m in someone’s apartment wearing someone else’s clothes with a life that definitely isn’t _mine._ My real name is Crydamoure,” he ran a hand through his hair aggravatingly, nearly laughing at how _ridiculous_ his own story sounded, “and-and now I’m Guy-Man? I guess? Look, I don’t expect you to believe me, but really, what other explanation _could_ there be?”

A heavy silence filled the room, the three of them looking anywhere but at each other. Crydamoure was already beginning to map out how he was going to get back home; would the others accept him back as a god? Would they be so merciful as to even bump him down to an angel? There would be talk, of course, but as if any of that even mattered to him anymore. Who did he think he was kidding? As if a human would ever fall in love with a god— and he didn’t want to use any love potion or arrows, no, he wanted Thomas’ _true_ love, he wanted to gain his love through the difficulties of having a relationship and argue over little things and make up twenty minutes later as he’s seen so many other humans do. Crydamoure just wanted to be with him, plain and simple.

Thomas finally sighed, breaking the silence. He rubbed the bridge of his nose before simply saying, “Okay.”

Crydamoure arched an eyebrow. “‘Okay’?”

“Okay. I believe you.”

Julian nearly shrieked. _“Okay?_ You actually believe this? Thomas, you can’t be serious,” the brunet stepped from the blonde’s side with astonishment written across his face. Honestly, Crydamoure was right there with him.

“Do you have a _better_ explanation for the blood?”

“I don’t know, I mean...it can’t be what he just said. No way we’we been friends with fucking _Cupid_ all this time.”

“Do you want me to prove it?” The words were out before the god could realize what he was doing. It was forbidden to release any information about his work and who fell in love with who, and spilling even one tiny detail about Julian’s love life could ruin Crydamoure reputation. But if it would get Julian to believe him and not send him to a shrink, then so be it— Thomas was already on his side, anyway, so getting Julian to believe him shouldn’t take that much.

Both shared a skeptical glance towards each other before Julian asked, “What do you mean, ‘prove it’?”

“I mean,” Crydamoure took a breath, “yesterday you told Juliet you loved her for the first time. You just got a _feeling_ that you needed to do it. That... that was me. Doing my job. And you’re gonna tell her everyday until you marry her, which won’t be that long. I know all of this because I’m fucking _Cupid_ and if you don’t believe me by now, then you can just leave my apartment and never come back.”

Was it harsh? Yes. Was he also very tired and still in mild pain and also very upset by Julian’s accusations? Oh, _yeah._ At this point, now that he had Thomas on his side, he really didn’t care whether or not Julian chose to believe him. He didn’t get his wings ripped off for some American, after all.

Thomas was the first to apologize—  on Julian’s behalf, Crydamoure guessed— rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he stuttered through a “sorry” and “Julian’s not very good with these things”. Julian spoke up then, avoiding Crydamoure’s eyes as he asked in a quiet voice, “So, what’s the rest of your story?”

Crydamoure told them to sit, because it would be a _long_ story.

* * *

 

He told them everything. Well, not _everything;_ he left the bit about falling in love with Thomas out. But besides that tiny fact, the god had told the two everything leading up to that morning. The other gods, his brother, the demons, Above and Below, the entire hierarchy between gods and angels, gatherings, having his wings sawed off... he figured he should write a novel. Now the three sat around the coffee table, movie paused and long forgotten as Thomas’ and Julian’s attention had been on Crydamoure that entire time.

“So...” Julian ran a hand through his hair, flopping back onto the couch. “You were telling the truth. You really are a god. No, you’re really _Cupid._ Jesus, man...”

The brunet sat with his knees drawn to his chest and a blanket wrapped around his frame, eyes downcast. "Why would I just suddenly make up something like that? Even _I_ know it sounds ridiculous."

"But, are you still Guy-Man? What should we call you?" Thomas sat with his legs crisscrossed next to Crydamoure.

“Hell if I know,” He blew some hair from his face, shrinking into himself even more, “I picked the dumb name, so I guess you can call me Guy-Man. I really don’t think I care at this point.” He didn’t want to deal with this. It was hard to tell them what had happened, it was hard to even _think_ about what happened in such a short amount of time. This literally happened overnight and it still boggled his mind to think he actually went through with this, he’s actually missing his wings, and he’s actually talking to the boy he’s in love with. Plus Julian. “Sorry I ruined your...movie night.”

“Are you kidding? This is better than some fucking movie. I mean, how many people can say they’re friends with a _god?”_ Julian sat up from the couch.

Thomas rolled his eyes, “You can’t just go around telling people, dude.”

“I won’t!” he grinned, “But what else can you do, Guy? Are there, like, secret powers or

something you have? Like, can you make people fall in love at will? You _have_ to tell us.”

Crydamoure thought for a moment, eyes focusing anywhere but at the two in front of him. “I suppose you could say that, yes. I mean, if I had my arrows, I could show you. And I know some recipes for love potions, but I don’t know if the ingredients are things you can find on earth.”

“Julian, you’re not getting your hands on _any_ love potion.” Thomas chided, and Julian frowned. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s stupid and reckless.”

“Come _on,_ it’ll be hilarious! I mean, is the stuff permanent? Because if it is, it’d be even funnier.”

“How did you even get into the abroad program? Can you explain to me again?”

As the two bickered and joked, Crydamoure let out a quiet sigh. He was in an awful mess, but at least he wasn’t alone.

 

           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop a comment if u liked, thank u !

**Author's Note:**

> drop a comment if you liked, thank u!  
> (questions to my tumblr --> galestrikes.tumblr.com)


End file.
